


Pride and Prejudice and Mr. Harry J. Potter

by bottseveryflavorbeans_jrayoh23



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dancing, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Fluff, Draco feels rejected, Lots of Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy, Love Confessions, M/M, One Shot, Pansy is a good friend, Pride and Prejudice References, Victorian, Witty Conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 21:09:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13960065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottseveryflavorbeans_jrayoh23/pseuds/bottseveryflavorbeans_jrayoh23
Summary: Draco Malfoy is on the outside of society life after his family was tried for aligning themselves with Voldemort. The only thing that saved him was the intervention of one Mr. Harry J. Potter, the wizarding worlds most well-regarded man. Draco, who has been smitten with Mr. Potter feels rejected and when meeting him at a ball, decides to manintain his dignity and refuse to engage with Mr. Potter.*This is a Pride and Prejudiuce inspired piece*





	Pride and Prejudice and Mr. Harry J. Potter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Forgetticus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forgetticus/gifts).



  
The string quartet played a soft suite. The sound wafted through the air like a summer breeze blowing across the Thames. Quiet chatter filled the ballroom. A hum of activity. A bustle of noises. Feet shuffling on the dance floor. Laughs echoing over the music. Glasses clinking in cheer.

Through the crowd, Draco caught the attention of Mr. Harry J. Potter, the most admired wizard in all of London, perhaps in all of England. Universally, it has been acknowledged that to have his favor was comparable to being smiled upon by the gods.

Whoever managed to marry Mr. Potter would be set in comfort; in more ways than simple riches, though he had riches in abundance. His fortune, sizable as it was, paled in comparison to Mr. Potter’s general composition. He was charming beyond reproach and if rumors are to be believed, and they often are, Mr. Potter was quite the romantic.

This led Draco to believe that Mr. Potter was every bit the man he thought him to be and every bit as likely to think that Draco was below his status. In school, they had a rivalry and Mr. Potter never kept quiet about his overwhelming dislike of Draco and the sort he aligned himself with. When Draco had power and finances and could not bring himself to care about one man's opinion, even if that man was Harry J. Potter.

Unfortunately, Draco found himself caring about Mr. Potter’s opinion in his current state, though he would be remiss to admit to it aloud. He worked to foster a new image of himself, one that rejected his previous misgivings and misalliances. Partly, it was in hopes of attracting the attentions of Mr. Potter, who he fancied for some time, foolhardy as it was, and partly, he had been able to see the errors of his ways and a genuine change had not been completely unfavorable.

As Draco locked eyes with Mr. Potter the room seemed to slow around him as if time itself were giving him an extra moment of Mr. Potter’s attentions. Draco watched Mr. Potter speaking to his companions. His many admirable features flooded Draco’s senses. Mr. Potter’s dark hair framed his olive-toned face and unkempt as it was, still managed to look handsome. His verdant eyes, searched the ballroom with apparent interest, alight with amiability. His supple lips, which he licked after sipping from his champagne flute, were the perfect specimens—like two soft tulip petals in spring.

Still handsome as ever, Draco cooed internally, allowing himself one moment to wallow over his unrequited feelings before shutting them away to gather dust like forgotten furniture in a boarded up house. These emotions did not become him, nor did they matter in any significant manner as it was abundantly and ardently clear that Mr. Potter had not changed his opinion in regard to Draco since school.

Draco was inconsequential and had always been. Even when Mr. Potter helped his family after the war, after Draco made a very public mistake in siding with the Dark Lord that cost him his position in society, he was inconsequential. It was not something he had done for Draco, rather something he had done simply because he was that ridiculously noble and insufferably moral.

Of course, Draco had wanted to see Mr. Potter’s interference on his behalf as something meaningful, but their history said otherwise. Mr. Potter did not speak directly to Draco when he stepped in on his behalf at the trial. He simply showed up, unannounced, spoke to Draco’s character and gave his very decided opinion on why Draco should be shown leniency, and then left even more swiftly than he had arrived.

Draco’s family status was once rivaled by none, but had been greatly de-escalated after the war—his finances gone, his titles removed. And if not for Mr. Potter speaking at his trial, Draco would surely be rotting in a cell.

After all of that, it would be unthinkable for Draco to truly catch the attentions of Mr. Potter, who was and always would be on the side of the angels—morally untouchable and possibly a bit fantastical. And like so many cruel jokes, Draco’s feelings for Mr. Potter had only grown in the months after the trial. Try as he might, he kept the flame of hope burning speculating that the interference may have suggested, in whatever small way, that Mr. Potter could be persuaded to find Draco tolerable.

It was this hope which afforded him the strength of character necessary to compose a letter to Mr. Potter outlining his deep, unfettering gratitude for his help in securing his freedom. He let his pen glide across the page in near ecstasy as he proclaimed that he had never seen Mr. Potter’s equal in eloquence in speech, nor in his affability. And upon closing the letter, made for an invitation to host Mr. Potter at his new estate, which was small in comparison to the Manor that he lost, but was comfortable enough to keep a cook and therefore provide Mr. Potter with a decent meal if he were so inclined to accept the invitation.

No letter of acceptance arrived. Draco waited many a fortnight. He would spend hours making excuses for Mr. Potter’s absence in reply. Possibly the man was caught up on business. Or possibly, he was engaged in hunting as it was mid-season and men like Mr. Potter enjoyed the hunt quite thoroughly. Maybe the letter had not reached Mr. Potter. Maybe it was lost and the lack of acceptance was not a slight, but a misunderstanding.

This last line of thinking persuaded Draco to write another letter, outlining the same sentiments as he previously wrote. He expressly begged Mr. Potter’s pardon for not receiving his first letter of thanks sooner and explained that it must be lost somewhere.

But there was still no reply.

Therefore, Draco decided, it was safer to keep his feelings close to his chest. Only Pansy, his dearest friend, knew about them. Draco had feigned indifference to Mr. Potter each time he was mentioned in casual conversations or when she inquired as to whether Mr. Potter had accepted his invitation. It was simply that Pansy was highly attuned to Draco and all his quirks. Such things occur when friendship spans a lifetime as theirs did.

Beside him in the hall, Draco felt Pansy’s presence. She shifted her frame to stand taller, no doubt knowing her long, exposed neck would be appealing to suitors. The pale expanse that sloped down to her cleavage begged for lips to whisper promises of love upon them. That and her hourglass figure would attract even the cleverest pray into the spider's web.

“My darling Draco, look who is approaching,” Pansy whispered in Draco’s ear. Her breath was hot and smelled fruity from the champagne.

Approaching them was Mr. Potter and his ever-present companion, Ms. Granger, who wore a long navy blue dress which suited her nicely. She had not changed dramatically since school, Draco noted.

Her hair was still a visible mess, but her pale complexion held a certain appeal that was not entirely lost on Draco. As did her position in the Ministry. Ms. Granger was an Unspeakable and it was said that she would one day take over the entire department. A connection like that was not entirely unfavorable; however, it paled in comparison to her companion, Mr. Potter.

The pair had been inseparable since childhood much like Draco and Pansy, but even more so since each of their divorces. Seems the Weasley clan shut ranks and Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger were left to lean upon one another.

The rumors that their friendship had developed into something more were becoming quite difficult to ignore. Especially as Draco took in their proximity to one another. The comfortability with which they engaged one another in conversation. The ease at which a smile played at the corner of Mr. Potter’s mouth whenever she spoke.

And here they were, walking over to the corner of the room Draco and Pansy had chosen for its isolation from the merriment. Of course, Draco and Pansy’s presence was necessary at such events, even though Draco found these events a stark reminder of what he had lost and how he just what he did to lose it.

After the mess with the war, Draco and Pansy had made it their mission to gain back a small shred of the prestige their family names once held. In order to accomplish such a task, Draco had to condescend himself to do things that he found no enjoyment in like socializing with people at events such as this, even if one only finds them barely tolerable.

It did not, however, mean he must enjoy himself nor participate in more ways than nodding at guests, occasionally taking a partner in dance, and indulging in champagne. It also did not mean speaking to Mr. Potter or his companion no matter how his insides shouted in merriment at the thought of Mr. Potter approaching him.

“Brace yourself, my darling Draco. You and I both know the importance of making an agreeable impression on the pair of them. It is a small miracle that they seem eager to approach us, so we must take advantage,” Pansy said quickly before Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger were upon them.

He was not an infant. He did not need to be reminded that being polite to Mr. Potter was in his best interest. It was not lost on him that having someone like Mr. Potter be amenable towards him would greatly help his cause, which was reason enough to smile and nod courteously. However, Draco still greatly felt the sting of rejection as if it were yesterday that he was waiting eagerly for Mr. Potter’s response to his letters.

It certainly would bolster his status if the wizarding world's golden boy would say a few kind things about him, if he could even be bothered to think them in the first place. But even that small kindness seemed always slightly out of reach since Draco knew Mr. Potter’s opinion of him as was made unmistakably clear in the rejection of not one, but two letters.

“Evening, Ms. Parkinson,” Ms. Granger said, nodding her head at Pansy and then turning to Draco, “Mr. Malfoy. Enjoying the event are we?”

Her tone was gracious and she did not seem put out to be speaking to Pansy and Draco. In fact, she seemed quite eager to speak again. Her mouth was already forming the words. It was only the rules of polite conversation that seemed to keep her at bay long enough to let someone else speak.

“Immensely,” Draco answered curtly. He forced a smile. Then, because it is polite to ask after people’s wellbeing, Draco added, “And how do you find the event, Ms. Granger? Is it to your liking?”

“I should say so. The whole event is breathtaking, but the music is always my favorite part. String quartets play so beautifully and the dancing is a pleasure to watch. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I would heartily agree, Mrs. Granger,” Pansy said with a little too much excitement for Draco’s taste. He could almost feel her body pulsing eagerly for Mrs. Granger’s attentions.

He feared he would lose her to her own ill-advised motives which would leave him alone with Mr. Potter and nothing seemed more unpleasant to Draco than that.

“Seems a waste to stand and simply admire the music when we could be dancing. Would you care to dance, Mrs. Granger?” Pansy asked. She extended her pale hand, long fingers splaying out like an elegant lace fan.

Without answering, Mrs. Granger placed her hand in Pansy’s. She turned to Mr. Potter and smiled, searching for something in his expression, and when she seemed satisfied he would not object to her leaving, she nodded at Pansy and they headed into the crowd.

“They make quite the pair,” Mr. Potter commented. He stood stiffly beside Draco now. No doubt, he had not anticipated losing his companion and being stuck socializing with Draco.

Looking out at the dance floor, Draco spotted Pansy, her hands draped at Ms. Granger’s waist as she led them across the dance floor. Unquestionably the most alluring pair on the floor.

“The whole of the wizarding world would not stand a chance,” Draco commented, more to himself than to Mr. Potter. If Pansy gained the favor of Mrs. Granger it would mean the end to her sufferings. Mrs. Granger’s influence in society would mean the end of the sideways glances and the end of gossip. And the beginning of so many things. With Pansy’s cleverness and Mr. Granger’s status, Draco knew they could accomplish anything.

Draco attempted to be happy for his friend, but found himself sulking. If Pansy were to gain favor, she may be forced to no longer acquaint herself with Draco. That would leave him scrounging around at the bottom of society life all by himself. He tried not to scowl at the thought since he was often reminded his scowl was unattractive.

“Quite right, Mr. Malfoy,” Potter said, with a soft laugh that spread to his eyes. The noise pulled Draco from his thoughts and filled him with a sense of longing that he hadn’t not experienced in such great quantities since childhood.

—Though I assume you are often right, so it does not surprise you any longer.” Mr. Potter leaned in to whisper. Draco felt Mr. Potter’s breath on his skin and it felt like the first rays of sunlight in the summer. He wanted to bask in it for an eternity.

That line of thinking was sure to only bring Draco suffering. It was unlikely that Mr. Potter would overlook Draco’s family ties. The embarrassment of his father’s arrest. The rumors surrounding his mother's mental stability. The loss of their income. And surely the stain of his own crimes were plastered upon him in everyone’s mind. Not to mention, Mr. Potter already carried a dislike for him from school.

“It is a burden I must bear. You should consider yourself lucky that it does not afflict you so,” Draco responded callously, shifting himself away from Mr. Potter. It was one thing to be polite, but it was another thing entirely to allow himself to indulge, in whatever small way, the feelings he long harbored for Mr. Potter in spite of the reality of his situation.

After a few moments, Draco realized that somehow he let himself drift back into Mr. Potter. Their elbows brushed and the small touch sent a wild thrill through Draco’s body. It seemed to search for an appropriate place to lodge itself and settled for his stomach.

They had fallen into an uncomfortable silence. Draco sipped at his champagne simply to occupy his mouth before he let another veiled insult slip from between his traitorous lips. Mr. Potter, Draco noticed, watched as Pansy guided Ms. Granger on the dance floor. He smiled as he did.

“The music is lovely,” Mr. Potter affirmed but seemed to be saying something else. He seemed to ask Would you like to dance? in that subtle way that held no risk of rejection because it had not been a question so much as an invitation for Draco to assert that he would like to dance.

“Indeed. Quite lovely,” Draco agreed because it was easier than disagreeing and because Mr. Potter’s proximity to him was making him highly uncomfortable. Feelings were surfacing. Feeling which he had long since resigned to ignore. Feelings that would only cause him trouble. Feelings that would surely ruin whatever sanity he managed to obtain since the trials.

“I do believe it is your turn to say something,” Mr. Potter said. He turned himself so he was looking at Draco now. A smile played at the corner of his lips. “Is it not considered polite to return with another comment on either the beauty of the couples, or at the very least how dreadful the weather is tonight?”

“I am not against polite conversation, if that is what you mean to imply. It is simply that I do not know what you would like to hear, Mr. Potter. Why not tell me what to say and I will say it?”

“I am confident that you are able to pick your own topics for discussion, Mr. Malfoy.”

“So confident, in fact, that you felt the need to point out my earlier response was not up to your conversational standards.” Draco paused in order to take in the mischievous smile on Mr. Potter’s face. Then after a pregnant silence, he finished his thought. “I do wish to please you in this manner, Mr. Potter; however, I have so little knowledge of what does the trick as you and I do not often have occasion to speak.”

“Why, Mr. Malfoy, I dare say a little bit of risk is involved in any conversation. If I were to simply tell you what pleased me, then I may as well stand in a corner and speak to myself.”

Draco smiled at this remark. He could barely help himself. Mr. Potter was more agreeable than any other man in the hall and he was standing in a corner of the room engaging in light conversation with Draco. It was nearly impossible to avoid feeling special.

Draco’s response came out slightly more playful than he intended it to be when he said,“You may prefer the responses that way. I am sure you are much better company than I.”

“Nonsense, I am immensely enjoying myself,” Mr. Potter sipped from his champagne flute and afterwards licked his bottom lip, seeming to savor the taste. “It is one of the more lively conversations I’ve had all evening. Many of the Ministry officials are painfully dull.”

“On that, I will have to take your word, Mr. Potter, as I have not had the delight of speaking to many people this evening.”

“Surely, that has nothing to do with the fact that you have hidden away in this corner of the ballroom, nor that you seem unaffected by the music,” Mr. Potter said and then nudged Draco’s elbow playfully. The contact burned through him.

With difficulty, Draco took in a deep breath and responded. “Surely. It must be something else entirely.”

“It is certainly not your conversational abilities as I am pleased to find you can speak for longer than five minutes. Before tonight, I feared you ran on a timer.”

Mr. Potter then did something that Draco could never have anticipated. He winked. The man winked at Draco and then bit his lower lip, keeping his gaze fixed on Draco’s lips.

Draco felt his stomach react. Whatever had lodged there earlier, released itself and was making its way north and settling in his chest. It felt like a dozen fairies fluttering against his rib cage.

“I simply have a low tolerance for frivolity,” Draco choked out. He knew he did not sound convincing, but he was attempting indifference as it was the securest avenue. He stepped backward hoping the physical space would lessen the effect Mr. Potter’s stare was having on his body.

However, Mr. Potter leaned forward to close the space between them and locked eyes with Draco, placing one hand over Draco’s forearm. The intensity behind his eyes was staggering. The touch nearly knocked Draco to his knees.

Mr. Potter’s voice was a low rumble when he spoke, “Frivolity can be enjoyable on occasion. Can it not?”

Every part of Draco was shouting at him. Some parts ordered him to extricate himself from this line of inquiry before he internally combusted, but other parts of him begged him to stay put and see what other interesting things would come out of Mr. Potter’s mouth.

The frigid part of him won out and he responded in a way he hoped would cease this increasingly suggestive conversation. “Frivolity by definition is meaningless. I prefer substance.”

Mr. Potter stepped back and released Draco’s forearm. He did not look offended, but there was disappointment in his tone when he spoke. “You are entirely too taciturn, Mr. Malfoy. Are not certain things meant to be enjoyed in their simplicity and others for their meaning and value?”

“Why engage in something without any meaning?”

“For fun, surely.”

“Surely. If you’ll excuse me.” Draco cleared his throat and bowed slightly in Mr. Potter’s direction and made his way to Pansy on the dance floor. He needed to extricate himself from the conversation before he let slip anything too revealing about his feelings. He was not strong enough to handle a rejection from Mr. Potter. It was better to cut things off before he could be rejected. That was safest.

She looked annoyed with him for interrupting, but acquiesced when she noticed the alarm in his voice. He dragged her, as elegantly as possible, to the balcony at the far end of the ballroom.

  
***

  
Once outside, Draco drank in the damp air. It was raining, hard, and tasted like the beginnings of spring. There was a petrichor quality to it, which filled his lungs. He felt grounded again after so long floating through his conversation with Mr. Potter.

He turned to face the cityscape. With his back to Pansy and the noises of the event inside, he let his face fall into a scowl.

“You left me alone.”

“You know I’ve had amiable feelings toward Mrs. Granger for a while now and was curious as to her disposition in regards to our acquaintance. This was my chance to test the waters and she seemed to be receptive to my advances. Further, I do not believe that there is any validity to those rumors about them,” Pansy said as if this would be good news to him.

“So what if the rumors are false. Why should I condescend myself to care?”

He felt irately petulant all of a sudden. It came upon him like a wave against the shore. All of his own insecurities, his doubts, surfaced and tangled around him yanking him with fevered desperation to the depths of uncertainty.

He was embarrassed by his own unashamedly childish hopes that his feelings might, even in some small way, be reciprocated by Mr. Potter though his earlier rejections of Draco’s letters still hung in the air like so many unpleasant scents.

After all, their conversation had gone well until Draco ejected himself unceremoniously. In fact, Draco had even let himself slip into the fantasy that he so often entertained himself with in front of the fire after dinner to quell the quiet evenings.

In those fantasies, Mr. Potter would sincerely apologize for his lack of response and credit this misstep to the misfortune of a man who travels often, therefore, losing often their correspondences. This would then be returned with Draco’s understanding and admittance that he simply thought there was an issue with the letters and in no way considered Mr. Potter the type of person to ignore an amiable invitation to someone’s home.

They would then enjoy a quiet dinner and conversation, finding they had many a thing in common and that they ardently enjoyed one another’s company thus securing dinner invitation for later in the week, and when Draco let his fancy run completely wild, Mr. Potter would propose marriage and Draco would not even hesitate in his answer.

“Your indifference amazes me,” Pansy sighed, breaking Draco free from his own thoughts. This was not the first time they had a conversation like this, nor would it be the last.

Most recently, they had the distinct misfortune of discussing Draco’s feelings in regard to Mr. Potter in the hours leading up to this very ball. Pansy was eager in her questioning. Her natural curiosity mixed with her own boredom was a devious pairing that often left Draco feeling exposed no matter how many times he assured her of his complete indifference to Mr. Potter.

At his side, Pansy sighed again. Her body next to his was familiar and he felt himself gaining his composure back in increments. Social events had always been the hardest thing for him after the war, as Pansy was well aware. All the people. All the pretending. It was wholly due to Pansy that Draco managed to get through them at all, so when she left him alone his mask started to slip away to reveal the unpleasantness within—the unpleasantness that was sure to convince Mr. Potter that Draco was unworthy of his attentions.

“I am not indifferent. I am simply…” Draco paused, searching for a word. His brain would not supply him with one. Well, not one that would help his case.

“You know you fancy him. I know you fancy him. So why continue in this vein?”

“That is not the issue. Of course I fancy him. I have always fancied him. I feel as though he and I are so similar, yet remarkably different. I am intrigued by his nature and ability to remain charming even in the worst of circumstances.”

“What is the issue then?”

“The issue?” Draco raised his voice unintentionally, but now that he was speaking louder he felt his anger toward the whole situation. Anger toward himself. Anger toward his station in life. Anger, even, toward Mr. Potter for rejecting him and then pretending to enjoy a conversation with him as if there was no ill feelings between them. This anger came forth in his speech, though he only half believed what he shouted.

—The issue is that he and I cannot work, Pansy. Would never. We are not compatible. He is too proud to condescend himself to my station and accept such an undesirable match as I. My family ties alone should be reason enough to avoid me, but add on the fact that he could not even bring himself to accept my invitation for dinner and ask yourself this question: How could we ever get passed those issues which I have laid before you?”

Pansy only stared at Draco in shock. It was clear in her expression that she had not intended to upset him in such a way. Her normally composed face wore worry lines around the eyes and an expression of pity that Draco wished she would wipe from her face in the quickest fashion.

“He finds me barely tolerable as was made clear from his behavior after the trial and with, not one, but two refusals for dinner. It is only that this ball is so mundane and filled with boring Ministry officials that he even desired to shower me with his attentions. I can no more see him happy to stand at my side than I can see myself happy to be with a man whose pride gets in the way of such politeness as accepting a dinner invitation. He is quite possibly the last man on earth I could ever truly see myself with.”

As he finished, his chest heaving, Draco heard the crash of glass on the balcony floor behind him. Draco whipped around to see Mr. Potter standing at the threshold. Broken glass was shattered in front of him. A slight flush of pink stained his cheeks and before Draco could explain his words.

Mr. Potter was dashing through the crowd, no doubt headed for the nearest apparation point. Thoughts clouded Draco’s head, but he pushed them away and found his legs carried him after Mr. Potter even though he could not fathom what excuse he could present that would forgive him the harsh words which he laid upon Mr. Potter’s character.

Out front, Draco spotted Mr. Potter standing under the lamp post that was the designated apparation point but it did not look as if he were making any attempt to apparate. His frame was hunched over. His robes were soaked through and his dark hair was matted to his head. Droplets of rain raced down his still-flushed cheeks.

Before stepping into the downpour, Draco steeled himself. Then he felt the rush of water hit him in sheets. It was a cool rain for so late in the spring and he felt his hair immediately cling to his head and cheeks.

Slowly, he approached Mr. Potter. His steps made squishing noises as his shoes were filled with water from a stepping through a puddle in his rush to get to Mr. Potter. The noise caught Mr. Potter’s attention. He turned his face up to look at Draco. His eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks still wore the bright red color of embarrassment. Draco felt his breath catch at the sight. His words had done that.

“Mr. Potter, let me explain,” Draco started.

“No need, Mr. Malfoy. I heard enough from you tonight.”

“You only heard the end of a conversation.”

“It was enough.”

“It was wrong of me to...”

“Wrong? I think not. Remember, you carry the burden of always being right.”

“Not in this matter.”

“I’m not even sure why I am so hurt by your words. Surely you have said worse to me. Surely I have endured worse.”

“Please let me explain.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to explain.”

“Then explain.”

“I—I am, against my better judgement—the things I feel…you have always been…” Draco tailed off. Admitting his feelings was harder than he would have ever anticipated. But he was here now, he was finally going to admit to something that he had been ignoring for his entire life. Admit to something that went against every rational thought he had.

“Whatever can you mean by this admission?”

“I—I love...I love you.”

“You love me? Against your better judgement?”

“No, listen, please. It should be against your better judgement to even care how I feel. That is what my speech was about. I was begging Pansy to understand why I would never make my feelings known to you. I did not wish to burden you with the task of rejecting me.”

“Why is that? Do I not have a right to feel?”

“You are too good for me. You and I, together, we do not make any rational sense to the world. You are well regarded and wealthy, while I am a disgrace with a family name that only carries scandal. That is what I was saying to Pansy. I will not allow myself to indulge in my feelings for you because I am not worthy of receiving any sort of reciprocation.”

“Should I not be in charge of what is worthy of me?”

“People will think I have done something evil to you. They will talk. The papers already keep their eye upon me as if to capture me in some dark deal at the market. No matter how much work I do, my name still holds the stain my father left.”

“And that is why you treat me with such contempt whenever you see me? Why you ran from me tonight?”

“Yes.” It was an honest answer. It also was an embarrassing thing to admit aloud, but Draco found he left his pride back on the balcony with Pansy. It lay scattered among the shattered glass that Mr. Potter dropped.

The rain was falling harder. Draco felt a slight chill run up his spine. His entire body was wet to the core. His robes clung to him. And even though part of his mind was occupied with the fact that he would most certainly be ill, a bigger part was focused on Mr. Potter’s lips as they formed an answer.

“Mr. Malfoy, I am inclined to believe you, but on one condition…” Mr. Potter trailed off and quirked an eyebrow, all of his charm restored. It lit up his face with mischief that made Draco’s stomach burn with desire. It was like willingly walking into a burning building. Mr. Potter stood before him, rain-drenched—his robes clinging to the muscles of his torso and arms.

“Name it,” Draco answered.

“Dance with me.” A quiet smile spread across Mr. Potter’s face like wildflowers in summer.

“Dance with you? Here? Now?”

“Yes.”

“There is no music and we are wet through.”

“Earlier, I commented on the music in hopes that you would offer yourself as my partner the way Ms. Parkinson offered herself to Ms. Granger and I found myself quite rejected. I would prefer to remedy this rejection, if at all possible. Do you find this agreeable?”

“I—Mr. Potter, surely we should go inside.”

“Dance with me, Mr. Malfoy.” Without waiting for a response, Mr. Potter stepped forward and extended a hand—palm up. With a deep breath, Draco placed his hand in Mr. Potter’s. His other hand fell to Mr. Potter’s shoulder. Sliding his other hand around Draco’s waist, Mr. Potter pulled their bodies closer together. It felt odd to dance in the rain while no music played, but the feeling of having Mr. Potter’s body so near his was enough to make him forget his own name.

“May I ask why you thought I could not possibly fancy you?” Mr. Potter whispered against Draco’s cheek as they swayed.

With a heavy sigh, Draco answered. “The letters.”

“The what?” Mr. Potter’s voice was quiet. The question seemed so odd to Draco. Surely Mr. Potter knew to which letters he was referring.

“I sent two letters after the trial inviting you to dine with me as a thank you for intervening and saving me from a most unfavorable situation. Both letters were met with no response and so I took it to mean you did not care to have an acquaintance with me.”

Pulling back slightly, Mr. Potter looked Draco in the eyes. His face went stern and he stopped swaying, but left his hands wrapped around Draco. “I never received such letters as those. If I had, I would have heartily accepted.”

This was all a bit much for Draco. His heart hammered in his chest and he was tempted to disapparate right now to the comfort of his home. The wetness of his clothes suddenly became the only thing he could think about. “It is of no consequence now.”

“I suppose,” Mr. Potter answered and pulled Draco back in and began to sway again, “but they clearly affected you and therefore, are of consequence to me.”

All of these confessions made Draco feel lightheaded. In the last ten minutes, Draco had been more honest than he had ever endeavored to be—sharing his fears and his hopes, however misguided, with Mr. Potter.

All he could think to say was, “You are too kind.”

Mr. Potter leaned his head forward and pressed his forehead to Draco’s as he spoke. If Draco thought his heart hammed before, it was nothing compared to this moment. Nothing compared to how he felt when Mr. Potter let his words fall between them pregnant with meaning. “You flatter me.”

“That was not meant to flatter.” Draco closed his eyes. If he kept them open any longer he would simply combust because Mr. Potter was looking at him in a manner that was better suited for the privacy of a marriage bed. “It is simply truth. I am sure I could conjure up a much better compliment than calling you kind.”

Abruptly, Mr. Potter twirled Draco out and pulled him back in—the motion sent a thrill through Draco that could only be compared to jumping from a cliff. Upon contact, Mr. Potter smiled. “I am curious to hear such compliments.”

“You will remain curious then, as I do not frivolously dole out compliments like a after dinner dessert.” However nervous Draco was, he would not let Mr. Potter best him in conversation. There was still a bit of their old rivalry in their back and forth. The same push and pull like planets getting caught in each other’s gravitational pull. Fighting for dominance.

“Ah, yes.” Mr. Potter made a show of sighing heavily and rolling his eyes.“I recall your harsh stance on frivolity.”

“Frivolous compliments lack substance. The ones I am accustomed to making are heavy with the weight of thought and meaning. One must earn them.”

“Oh, one must, must they?”

“Indeed.”

“And in your decided opinion, what earns one these elusive compliments?”

“If I simply tell you then how I am to know if the behavior is genuine or that of tired practice?”

“I suppose one will have to await one of these compliments in the greatest anticipation.”

“One shall.”

Mr. Potter stopped their swaying again and again adopted a serious face. His skin glistened under the lamplight. Each droplet of rain like a star in the sky—a galaxy of wonder and mystery. “Mr. Malfoy?”

“Yes, Mr. Potter,” Draco said. His voice caught in his throat. He was unbearably cold now, but held himself tall. If Mr. Potter were going to reject him, he would make sure he kept his dignity at least. If Mr. Potter had simply wanted to dance with Draco and nothing more, he would accept that. He would manage.

“Is it too late to accept that dinner invitation?”

Relief washed over Draco in that moment. He felt it flood his entire body. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He smiled and then answered in his best haught tone, “In polite society, it is unacceptable to respond after more than a fortnight; however, I could be inclined to revisit my invitation.”

“Is that your roundabout way of saying yes?”

Draco only smiled.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was just a fun exercise to imitate a writing style and explore language. It is completely possible that it is pure nonsense. 
> 
> <3


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